And I awoke from my dream to find Hexe leaning over me, his eyes rolled back in his head, as his gauntlet-clad hand squeezed my windpipe.
Chapter 25
I tried to call out his name, but all that came out was a strangled groan. I kicked and flailed at him, but he did not let go. Just as my vision started to turn gray around the edges, there was a horrific screeching noise and Scratch launched himself at Hexe, beating his master about the head and shoulders with his batlike wings while raking him with his claws.
Hexe let go of me and jumped off the bed, cursing in Kymeran as he grappled with Scratch. Blood poured down his face and neck and onto his naked chest and arms from the dozens of deep scratches that the familiar had dealt him. His eyes had dropped back down, but were as glassy and unfocused as those of a sleepwalker.
You dare attack your master, hellspawn! Hexe shouted indignantly as he tore the madly clawing winged cat off his head and hurled it to the floor.
I dont know who you are, buddy, the familiar hissed, his eyes glowing like live coals, but youre not my master!
As Hexe lifted his left hand, I saw the flicker of hellfire ignite in his palm. Scratch flattened his ears against his skull and growled in preparation of a second attack.
I tried to shout, but the best I could do was a hoarse croak that made me grimace in pain. Hexe! Dont do it! To my relief, his eyes regained their focus and his left hand dropped to his side, extinguishing the flame.
You did it, Tate! Scratch said. You woke him up!
Whatwhat happened? Hexe winced as he touched his face, staring in bafflement at the blood staining his left hand. His eyes jerked in my direction, only to widen at the sight of the bruises that now ringed my neck. He then looked down at his right hand, to find its fingers still moving of their own accord, as if trying to strangle an unseen throat. With a shout of wordless horror, Hexe dashed from the bedroom.
Whats wrong with him, Scratch? I rasped.
The boss is possessed, the familiar replied. But not by a demon; Id recognize the smell if he was. Its some kind of evil spirit Whatever else Scratch had to say after that was abruptly drowned out by the bansheelike screech of a power tool.
Hes in my studio! I exclaimed. I leapt from the bed and hurried down the hall without bothering to throw on my housecoat, Scratch following at my heels.
As I entered the room, I saw Hexe standing naked at my workbench, brandishing one of the cordless power saws. He held his right hand away from his body, staring in disgust at its wildly writhing fingers as if they were venomous snakes.
Hexe! Put that down! I croaked, my voice still rough from being throttled. What are you doing?
I have to do this, Tate! Dont stop me! he replied, gesturing with the power tool. The darkness is in my handI can feel itits crawling up my arm, creeping into my brain, and spreading through my heart. I can hear it inside my headits whispering to meits telling me thingspromising me thingsit wants me to hurt you and the babyI cant let that happenI wont let that happen!
As if in response, the gauntleted hand suddenly lunged at his left forearm, as if to knock the saw away. Hexe responded by menacing his right hand with the spinning blade, and it promptly recoiled.
You were right, Tate! Hexe exclaimed, his eyes filled with a terrible determination. I have to get rid of the gauntletbefore it takes me over completely and makes me hurt you and the baby again!
Hexe! No! Dont do it! I pleaded.
Theres no other way! he replied. The voice is too strongif I dont do it now, itll be too late!
Miss Timmy? What on earth is going on? Oh. My.
I turned to see Clarence standing in the open doorway of the studio, dressed in his pajamas and bedroom slippers, his eyes agog at the sight of a naked, crazed Hexe wielding a live power tool. Hexe used the distraction to bring the saw down on his right forearm, just above the Gauntlet of Nydds white-gold cuff. There was a sickening crunching sound, followed by an agonized scream as blood sprayed across the floor. I added my screams to Hexes own and covered my eyes, unable to bear the sight of the saw blade ripping through unresisting flesh and bone.
The gauntleted hand dropped to the floor with a heavy thud, only to promptly right itself and scuttle away like a silver-clad spider. Scratch gave an angry yowl and pounced on the amputated limb, sinking his fangs deep into the back of the hand, just like a house cat attacking a rat. The fingers of the severed hand wriggled frantically for a few seconds, like the legs of a crab, before finally going limp.
The power saw slipped from Hexes grip mere seconds before he collapsed. I knelt beside him, desperately trying to stem the lifeblood spurting from the stump of his right wrist. I felt something drape across my shoulders, and I realized that I had just been covered with a blanket. Suddenly Clarence was there, kneeling beside me with a first-aid kit.
Itll be all right, Miss Timmy, he said reassuringly as he placed a tourniquet fashioned from one of his ties about Hexes forearm. I was an Eagle Scout, in my dayalways be prepared.
I had to do it. . . . There was no other way . . . Hexe mumbled, his golden eyes seeming to grow paler with each spurt of blood.
Hold on, Hexe, I said, squeezing his remaining hand as hard as I could. Dont you dare die on me.
Bossare you in there? Scratch mewed, butting his head against his masters bloodied chin. Can you hear me?
Im still here, old friend, Hexe replied with a faint smile as he squeezed my hand, his voice sounding frighteningly weak. Im not going anywhere.
You better not, I said through the tears streaming down my cheeks. Youve got a son to raise, you know. Suddenly Hexes eyelids flickered and his eyes once again rolled back, exposing their whites. Hes going into shock, Clarence, I said anxiously.
You both are, he replied quietly.
With a start, I realized he was right. The initial burst of adrenaline that had first spurred me to fight, and then kept me on my feet, was finally starting to disappear. I felt like Alice tumbling down the rabbit hole, watching helplessly as the light from the world above dwindled into nothingness. As my vision telescoped down from gray into black, I thought I could hear the Queen of Hearts shouting somewhere off in the distance: Off with his hand! Off with his hand!
Chapter 26
I woke up to find myself in one of the recovery rooms at Golgotham General, the community hospital that served the city-states diverse population. I had been there, once before, when a demon broke my arm. I sat up straight, gasping like a swimmer coming up for air. The baby . . . ? Hexe . . . ? Are they?
Your baby is fine, Miss Timmy, Clarence said reassuringly from his post at my bedside. As for your young gentleman, I would say hes in amazing spirits for someone who has just chopped off his own hand.
I looked to where Clarence was pointing and saw Hexe sitting propped up in the hospital bed beside me, talking to his parents. His face was still pale but no longer bloody and the bites and claw marks Scratch dealt him had already disappeared, as if nothing had happened. The same could not be said for his right wrist, which now ended in a gauze-wrapped stump. Upon seeing I was awake, Hexe tossed aside his blankets with his remaining hand and swung his legs out of the bed. He took a couple of steps, only to have his knees buckle. Captain Horn stepped forward, helping to steady him. Hexe flashed his father a brief but grateful smile.
Thank God youre alive; I was so afraid Id lost you, I sobbed as he wrapped his arms about me.
Dont cry, Tate, he said soothingly, wiping at my tears with his left hand. Everythings going to be better now.
But your hand!
Whats done is done, he replied. Ever since I put on the Gauntlet of Nydd, my mind has been filled with a thick fog. Sometimes I was aware of what was going on, but most of the time it was like I was watching myself in a dream. I could hear horrible, ugly words coming out of my mouth, and at the same time I was wondering why am I saying this to her? It broke my heart to see the hurt look on your face, but I still couldnt stop the words from spilling out. I realize my saying Im sorry doesnt begin to cover everything Ive done and what Ive put you through
Of course I forgive you, I said, cutting him off in midapology. I knew something was wrong. You would never hurt me or our baby.
I had my forensics team go over the gauntlet, Captain Horn interjected. Turns out there was a puppetry spell woven into the original enchantment that allowed the spellcaster to exert control over whoever wore the gauntlet. Ive never seen such an insidious bit of spellwork in all my years of investigation. Do you think this Madam Erys is the person responsible?
It has to be her, Hexe replied. Shes the one who approached me about the Gauntlet of Nydd and arranged for Moot to do the surgery.
I looked into this womantheres no evidence of her living either here or the Faubourg, at least under that name. Its like she simply walked, full grown, from the Outer Dark. The landlord who actually owns the glovers shop on Shoemaker Lane says she only paid him to rent the storefront for a month or two, and used cash to do it with. As soon as the two of you are clearheaded enough, Ill send our picture-maker around to do an automatic drawing of the suspect, so my people will have an idea of who to look for.
First things first, though, Lady Syra said firmly. Once news of Hexe losing his hand begins to spread, both of you are going to need charms and spells for protection. You have plenty of enemiesnot all of them Maladantiwho will no doubt make a move against you when they realize you are defenseless.
What do you propose we do? Hexe asked.
Just leave it to me. I am the Witch Queen, after all.
* * *
After being released from Golgotham General, Hexe and I rode back to Lady Syras apartment building in her private coach, driven by the albino centauride Illuminata. The panacea Id been given at the hospital had healed me, inside and out, but left me feeling like Id just finished fifty laps in a swimming pool. Suddenly I felt the baby kick. I automatically reached out to place Hexes hand on my belly, only to have my fingers close upon thin air.
Lady Syra lived on Beke Street in a fifteen story neo-Gothic apartment building. Like my parents, her home was the penthouse, which was crowned by a copper-sheathed observatory that she used in order to draw up astrology charts for her clients. As we entered the ground floor lobby, the elevator doors began to open, prompting Hexe to hide his missing hand in his jacket pocket.
A second later Syras fellow tenant, Giles Gruff, accompanied by Mayor Lash, stepped out into the lobby. While Giles was dapper as ever, monocle in place and monogrammed cane in hand, Lash was nervously working the five-foot-long periwinkle blue braided ponytail he wore about his shoulders like a rosary. The two politicians were so heavily engaged in their conversation they did not seem to notice our little contingent.
But Ive always been able to count on you delivering the satyr and faun vote in the past, Giles! The mayor protested.
Well, you should have thought about that before you decided to get into bed with Ronald Chess! Giles replied sharply. Because of you, my niece was kicked out of her apartment!
How else could I afford to campaign against OFae? Lash snapped. Do you have any idea how many pots of gold that sawed-off shyster has in his war coffer?
Lady Syra scowled and mock-coughed into her fist. Mayor Lash started at the sound, his face losing all color as he realized who was standing before him. Giles, on the other hand, merely smirked as his companion quickly scurried across the lobby and out the front door.
Your Majesty, the satyr said, touching the brim of his top hat with his cane.
* * *
The first thing I noticed upon reaching Lady Syras penthouse was that there was no minotaur stationed outside the front door.
What happened to Elmer? I asked.
I had to let the poor dear go, she explained. He was the proverbial bull in a china shopalways getting his horns caught in the chandeliers. Hes now working as a longshoreman down on the docks. I think hes much happier there, to tell you the truth.
As we entered the apartment, we were greeted by Lady Syras manservant, Amos, whose welcoming smile quickly dissolved as he caught sight of the beige-colored arm sock that covered the stump of Hexes right hand.
My sons condition is not to be discussed. Is that understood? Lady Syra stated firmly.
Of course, Your Majesty, Amos replied with a bow of his maroon buzz cut.
Come with me, Lady Syra said, motioning for us to follow her up the spiral staircase that led to her workshop.
The inside of the observatory reminded me of an inverted copper bowl and was dominated by an antique sixteen-inch refracting telescope measuring twenty feet in length. The gleaming brass eyepiece was positioned six feet off the floor and was accessible only by a wrought-iron gangway. The retractable roof was decorated with murals depicting the zodiac and other astrological signs, and the walls were lined with bookcases, pigeonhole bins full of rolled-up charts, and a glass display case containing a taxidermied crocodilethe hallmark of the Kymeran archmage. Lady Syra made a beeline to a large horseshoe-shaped table at the foot of the telescope.
Perhaps I could have prevented you losing your hand if Id cast your chart as a boy, she said as she rifled through the collection of alchemical equipment, magical ingredients, and astrological charts before her. But I have learned it isnt wise to know too much of the future, especially of those you love. The temptation to muck about with that which has yet to be can be very strong, and often quite futile. If Greek tragedy has proven anything, its that attempting to evade the inevitable is what brings it about.
But didnt you cast a horoscope for my father? Hexe countered.
There are different types of charts, she replied. The one I cast for your father was little more than a toy. And I certainly wouldnt have given it to him as a birthday present if it revealed his death, or that of a loved one. In any case, blaming myself for not foreseeing what has happened does not change the fact it has occurred. This Erys woman, whoever she may be, seems determined to destroy you, and Im not going to allow her to do any more damage than she already has. After a few more moments spent rummaging about, she produced a small brass bowl, a large bottle of rosewater, an organic sponge, and a box of henna pens. OkayI need you two to strip down.
Down to what? I asked uneasily.
As far as youre willing to go, she replied. Ill need access to your entire torso. But first use the sponge to cleanse yourself with the rosewater.
A few minutes later both Hexe and I were down to our skivvies and smelling like a rose garden.
Are you ready? Lady Syra asked.
Take care of Tate first, Hexe said firmly. I can wait.
His mother nodded her understanding and motioned for me to step forward. Okaylets get started. She uncapped the first henna pen and started to chant in Kymeran. As the tip of the applicator made contact with my skin, I felt an electric prickling that made the hair on my arms rise. For the next hour Lady Syra drew a series of interlocking symbols and patterns over my breasts, belly, and back, never once halting her sonorous incantation. By the time she was finished I was covered with an elaborate henna tattoo from my shoulder blades to my hips, with specific attention paid to my heart, spine, lungs, and belly.
That should protect you from the majority of curses for the next thirty days, or when the temporary tattoos wear off, whichever comes first, Lady Syra said, looking considerably drained from when wed first started. Your turn, she said, motioning for Hexe to take my place.
As I waited for the protective wards inked onto my body to finish dryingit wouldnt do to have the symbols smudgedI noticed a jumble of old photographs mixed in with the arcana littering Lady Syras workbench. The one on the top of the pile showed a five-year-old boy with purple hair and gold eyes, dressed in a Star Wars T-shirt, sitting on the lap of a dignified older Kymeran with dark blue hair, golden eyes, and a closely manicured German goatee. With a start, I realized I was looking at Hexe and his grandfather, Lord Eben.
The next photograph was in black-and-white and showed a much younger Syra seated at a table in a restaurant, enjoying a cocktail and the company of Lou Reed and Andy Warhol. I flipped the picture over and read the notation: Elaines. Reed, resplendent in black leather, had one arm about Syra, and the two seemed to be sharing a laugh while Warhol stared directly into the camera, looking far more otherworldly than the teenaged witch seated at his elbow.
The third photograph was also in black-and-white and showed three Kymeranstwo men and a womangathered about one end of the formal dining table in the boardinghouse. It was strange to see Esau as a young man, as he was almost unrecognizable from the person I had come to know. It was not so much his youth that made the difference, but the fact the Esau in the photograph was . . . happy. Seated opposite him was a young man with a Beatles haircut and pair of tinted Ben Franklin glasses. It wasnt until I saw his long, elegant fingers that I recognized him as the drug-addled, alcoholic Dr. Moot. However, the real shock came when I looked at the woman, seated between them. Although she was a little younger in the photo, I had no problems identifying her. I flipped the photo over and saw it was dated forty-five years earlier.
I turned to look at Lady Syra, who had just finished inscribing the last protective sigil on her sons body. Who is this woman in this picture? I asked.
Thats Nina, she replied with a sad little sigh. She was my brothers wife.
But thats impossible, I said as I handed the snapshot to Hexe. Thats Madam Erys.
Tates right, he said excitedly. This is the woman who gave me the Gauntlet of Nydd. But how can it possibly be the same woman? Shes deadisnt she?
OhNinas not dead, Lady Syra replied. Well, not exactly, anyway.
Chapter 27
The Golden Years was located on the corner of Pearl and Hag, and, from the outside, resembled a Gilded Age hotel more than a nursing home. A twenty-foot-tall marble statue of a hooded and berobed figure leaning on a staff in its left hand while holding aloft an hourglass in its right stood in the center of the spacious lobby. At its foot was a reception station, manned by various Golgothamites in nurses whites.
I glanced around the handsomely appointed lobby and noticed that most of the older people seemed to be Kymeran, their once-vibrantly colored hair now faded to pastel. A large knot of them where gathered about the flat-screen TV hanging over the fireplace, watching Wheel of Fortune, while smaller clusters were scattered about reading books, talking among themselves, or playing board games like Parcheesi and the Game of Thirty. As we approached the front desk, several of them stopped what they were doing to watch us, with expectant looks on their faces, only to return to their pastimes once they realized we werent family members. But I also saw flickers of confusion, fear, and mistrust in some eyes as well, and I wondered if a human had ever set foot inside the facility before.
Yes, may I help you? the cyclopean receptionist asked, rising from her seat to greet us. Like most of the cyclopes living in Golgotham, she stood nearly seven feet tall and was built like a linebacker. A name tag affixed to her blouse identified her as Polyphema.
Were looking for a certain patient whos supposed to be here
We dont have patients here at Golden Years, Serenity, she replied. We have residents. But I should be able to help you locate who youre looking for. May I have the residents name and your relation to them?
Her name is Nina, and shes my aunt, Hexe explained. She was placed here by her husband, my uncle, thirty-five years ago.
The receptionist blinked her solitary eye, revealing a preference for dusky purple eye shadow, and typed the information into her desktop computer. Ah, yes. Shes one of our Perpetual Care residents in the Eternal Rest ward. Please follow me, Serenity.
As we followed Polyphema through the lobby toward the elevators, we were approached by a Kymeran nurse pushing a very old warlock in a wheelchair. Although he was bald as an egg, he had a long, flowing pale green beard and bristling brows to match. His hands were encased in what looked like a cross between childrens snow mittens and boxing gloves that were laced tightly shut. As the old warlock was rolled past us, he turned his head to stare at Hexe with glaucoma-clouded eyes the color of mutton jade and said something in Kymeran, his voice a rasping croak.
This place reminds me of my grandfathers last days, Hexe muttered to me under his breath as we waited for an elevator to arrive. He succumbed to the gazing sickness toward the endits not unlike what your people call Alzheimers. He became unstuck in time, unaware of when and where he waswe had to bind his hands to keep him from casting spells against threats that didnt exist. His mind was gone, but the magic was still there. . . .
The old manwhat did he say to you? I asked.
My king, he replied grimly.
* * *
The Eternal Rest ward was located on the sublevel of the facility. As the elevator doors opened we were greeted by the sight of a scarlet-haired Kymeran dressed in orderlys whites with his feet up on his desk, reading a Louis LAmour paperback. Around his neck hung a large, old-fashioned key, like the ones used to unlock treasure chests.
Sorry, Nurse Polyphema, he said as he awkwardly righted himself.
As well you should be, Hark, she replied frostily. I have two visitors for the Eternal Rest ward. I need the manifest.
Yes, maam, the orderly said meekly as he removed the key from about his neck and handed her the clipboard from his desk.
At the end of the hallway was a large, featureless metal door. Upon the orderly unlocking it, the door swung open with a squeal of rusty hinges, revealing absolute darkness beyond its threshold. The orderly then flipped the light switch next to the door and rows of fluorescent lights flickered to life, illuminating a vast chamber filled with row upon row of glass caskets, all of them occupied.
I stared in stunned horror at the various figures in repose. There were men, women, and even children from all the various races that comprised the citizenry of Golgotham, as well as humans, dressed in everything from pantaloons and knee-hose to the latest in modern fashion. I noticed that while some of them had long beards, hair, and fingernails, others were neatly coifed and manicured. Seeing the look on my face, Hexe took my hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
A-are they dead? I whispered.
Yesand no, Nurse Polyphema replied. All the residents in the Eternal Rest ward have been placed under a sleeping spell, balanced forever between life and death. They neither age nor decay, but instead exist in a perpetual state of suspended animation. However, their hair and nails do continue to grow. Those whose loved ones have paid for perpetual care are groomed by our staff every six weeks, as you can see. While most of the residents in this ward were cursed, the others were dying, and put to sleep by their loved ones in order to keep them from breathing their last breath.
Why would someone want to do that to someone they loved? I frowned.
Some simply have a hard time letting go, especially if the sleeper was taken from them too soon, the cyclops replied, gesturing to a nearby casket that contained the sleeping form of a small Kymeran boy still dressed in knee socks and a sailor suit. Many lift the spell when they, themselves, are close to death, so that they and their loved one will pass on at the same time.
Thats the saddest and sweetest thing Ive ever heard, I said, forcing down the lump rising in my throat.
Nurse Polyphema glanced down at the clipboard she was carrying. According to the manifest, Madam Nina should be on this aisle. Number two forty-seven . . .
Hexe stepped forward and peered down through the glass lid of the casket at the sleeping form of a middle-aged Kymeran woman dressed in clothes from the late seventies.
Thats not Nina, he said, pointing to the sleepers green hair.
Polyphemas single eye widened in surprise. Thats Dyad! Shes one of our staffor, rather, she was. She was the groomer for the perpetual care residents. She walked off the job without giving notice a couple months ago. Never even came to pick up her last check.
Is it possible Nina somehow revived while Dyad was grooming her? I asked.
Hexe shook his head. From all accounts, Nina was brain-dead. She was nothing more than an empty husk. My uncle put her under a sleeping spell before her heart stopped beating. Besides, even if she did somehow manage to revive, why would she place the groomer under a spell and exchange places with her?
Well, someone managed to revive her, I replied. The question is who and why?
* * *
Upon arriving back home, we were greeted at the door by Clarence, adorned in one of his Hawaiian shirts. Welcome back home, Master Hexe, Miss Timmy. I trust you both are feeling better?
You dont have to be a butler anymore, Clarence, I pointed out. Youre retired, remember?
Yes, but I feel somewhat at a loss, otherwise. Its going to take me some time to get used to the idea. Please indulge an old man while he adjusts, if you will.
Whatever floats your boat, I said as I gave him a peck on the cheek.
Thank you, Miss Timmy.
Miss Timmy? Hexe chuckled, raising his eyebrow.
Its a long story, I sighed.
By the way, Master Hexe, Clarence said, a young gentleman by the name of Bartho stopped by earlier with a package for you. I placed it on your desk. Now, if you dont mind, Im going to finish polishing the silver.
You know, I could get really used to having a butler, Hexe said with a laugh. Clarence is nowhere near as snarky as Scratch.
I heard that, the familiar announced as he emerged from the shadows. How are you doing, boss?
You tell me, Hexe said, taking the stump of his right wrist from its hiding place in his pocket.
Dont take this the wrong way, bossbut youre better off without it, Scratch said matter-of-factly.
I realize that now, old friend, Hexe sighed. All my life Ive favored my right hand; but, in the end, it was my left hand that remained loyal to me. But the question iswhat do I do now?
Suddenly my dream from the night before flashed before my minds eye and I remembered the words spoken by Mr. Mantos dream avatar. Last nightbefore everything went nutsI had a dream. Except it was more like a vision. I should have mentioned it earlier, but with all the crazy shit thats been going on, I pushed it to the back burner.
In my dream I was in a temple overlooking a strange cityI think it was in Kymera, because I could see dragons flying overhead. Mr. Manto was there, except he wasnt Mr. Manto, but something called a Dragon Oracle. . . .
Did he say anything to you in your dream? Hexe asked intently.
Yes. He said the hand is in the heart. I dont know what it means, but it must mean something because I can remember it. Mr. Manto says that prophecy can only truly be heard and understood when the time is right.
A pensive look crossed Hexes face. The hand is in the heart . . . I couldnt tell if he was speaking to me or simply talking out loud. Suddenly he broke into a smile and hurried down the hallway. His office was pretty much as hed left it the night before. Now that the gauntlet is gone, Im thinking faster and clearer than I have in weeks, he said excitedly as he bent to gather up the books strewn across the floor. Its as if scales have fallen from my eyes. The hand is in the heart. Of course it is!